


my cat likes you, so we're good

by PeggyLeggy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, SHIELD Academy, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeggyLeggy/pseuds/PeggyLeggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr "meet-cute" prompt: “You broke into my apartment drunk thinking it was your friends house and I should call the cops but my cat kinda likes you so we’re good AU”</p>
            </blockquote>





	my cat likes you, so we're good

Jemma Simmons follows a schedule. Friday nights, on the alternate week, she could be found taking an evening for herself. On this particular evening she’d been treated to a long bath, a couple of beers and the latest episode of Doctor Who. Currently she was curled up on the couch with her cat in a warm sleepy haze, intending to read late into the night.

 

What wasn’t on her schedule is as follows (but she wouldn’t rewrite it for the whole world).

 

_Thunk_

 

Jemma’s head snapped out of her book, her cat purring in discomfort and leaping off her toes. She stared at the door of the flat, willing it not to-

 

_Thunk_

 

“Hu-uuuu-nter”

 

Obnoxiously loud brogue slurred into her apartment, followed by some keys jingling. She glared, swearing to strangle the drunk if he hung around long enough to force her to get up. How dare he interrupt-

 

_Thunk_

 

“I can’t-“ _thunk_ “-get my bloody-“ _thunk_ “-key to work.”

 

Well, that’s because you’ve tried to let yourself in the wrong apartment, Jemma thought. She marked her book, put it down, and started over to the door.

 

“Hey! Hunter! You bloody hog faced arse. Open up.”

 

_Thunk_

 

She picked up the baseball bat from next to the door as a precaution, but was now in the mood to decidedly give this idiot a whack. She could make out that it was his _head_ thumping on her door in lieu of knocking.

 

“I know for a-“ _thunk_ “- fact that Bobbi isn’t in there ‘cause she was getting shit-faced with-“

 

Jemma cracked the door open, shouldering his weight as he thumped his head once more and slouched forward against the door. Her cat slipped past her.

 

“Carter, come back in-“ Jemma hissed.

 

“HU-NTER” the scotsman yelled, hiccuping slightly. Jemma’s cat started affectionately purring and rubbing his jeans. He continued to stare downwards, his blue eyes now alight with adoration. “Hunter did you get us a cat? Is this why you left me in the bar? Is this a surprise?”

 

“You’ve got the wrong door“ Jemma started, he ignored her though, too enamoured by her cat looping around his legs.

 

He continued his rambling as he bent down to stroke the thick ginger fur, thankfully relieving Jemma of his weight against the door.

 

“This is a _brilliant_ surprise. Do you remember the other week when I found that cat liver next to my lunch? Those biochem people have absolutely no bloody boundaries. Imagine it- mangled and decaying cat liver right next to my heavenly sandwich!“

 

Realisation hit his features, and Jemma hoped to hell that he’d finally figured out this was the wrong apartment. She was getting agitated, her comfy couch was calling to her, and she was feeling a little trigger-happy with the baseball bat.

 

“Hunter did you and Bobbi break up again? ‘Cause, mate, this reeks of pining, and I’m not dealing with a damn cat just because-“ he finally stood and looked upwards, taking in Jemma, her dressing gown, and her baseball bat.

 

“You’re not Hunter,” he said slowly, eyes wide.

 

“Indeed.”

 

“What number are you?” he peered around her door, holding himself barely upright.

 

“Forty-two.”

 

For a few moments he was in deep thought before replying, swaying with the door slightly.

 

“Looks like you’re the answer to the Ultimate Question then,” he said, twisting his fingers. Jemma was taken aback by the stranger, and her common sense lost to her quick wit.

 

“Oh, really? Of life, the universe and-“

 

“Everything,” he finished, meeting her eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched up a little, and she smiled shyly despite better judgment. 

 

“You-have-really-great-hair,” he blurted, grinning. Jemma instantly worried, twitching the bat in her hand. “Bloody hell, shit, I’m sorry,” he held his hands up and lent against her door frame, “wouldn’t want that for the hangover tomorrow.”

 

“Sorry. What number were you trying to get to?” She put the baseball bat back next to the door, his sincerity convincing her that he wasn’t looking for trouble. She brought her hand to her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ear.

 

“Right! Forgot about that for a second. It’s number three hundred and-“ he trailed off, muttering and gaping slightly while looking anywhere but at her.

 

“Three hundred! That’s at least ten buildings over.”

 

“You’re telling me,” he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, looking sheepish, “I’m gonna give my mate a call, sorry for uh everything.”

 

“No problem,” she replied, tugging her gown around her and starting to close her door.

 

He was handsome, Jemma would later admit to herself. Vivid blue eyes and a little pasty, with pink cheeks from the chill outside. Symmetrical, as well, and that was a winner in her books. (Only when he wasn’t slouching.)

 

“I’m Fitz, by the way,” he blurted, just before she disappeared.

 

“Have a nice night, Fitz.”

 

Jemma closed the door, and sighed. _Have a nice night._ What exactly was she thinking? She hadn’t even introduced herself. Hearing Scottish muttering thorough her door, she looked through the peephole, just to check on him.

 

Fitz paced slowly in a drunken swagger, one hand on his hips, looking down at his phone in disgust. The screen was black, and no amount of button pressing seemed to revive it. He turned away from Jemma’s door, sighing whilst bringing his hand to his forehead. He appeared to be contemplating the merits of a long, cold hike back to his apartment against another woefully embarrassing conversation with Jemma.

 

With the door between them, Jemma gazed shamelessly at Fitz. She mused that placing his hands on his hips did wonders to the blue t-shirt draped over lean muscles on his upper back . Oh, and his arse was quite nice too.

 

She felt her cheeks warm. Would it really be so terrible if he interrupted her night again?

 

Fitz, turning back to face Jemma’s door, seemed to come to the same conclusion. Grinning in spite of himself, he held his flat phone to his ear and waited right beside Jemma’s door.

 

“Hunter!” Fitz started loudly. “Pick-up-your-phone. Because errr… Because I’ve lost my keys!” Jemma realised that he was faking the voice message, given that he tried to break into her flat with his keys. “And, well, I’m at least a half-hour walk from the flat. And if you’re at Bobbi’s, or she’s at ours and you’ve not told me I’d rather not walk in on…”

 

There was some muttering, too quiet for Jemma to hear fully, but enough to realise the mentioned incident was a recent trauma. She suppressed a laugh at the thought.

 

“Oh that’s just bloody fantastic! My phone is dead!” he spoke at the top of his lungs into the door, causing Jemma to jump. A pause, and then he knocked.

 

Jemma looked into the peephole and rolled her eyes. He was grinning a little bashfully as he waited, proud that he’d thought up such an excellent plan. _What an idiot_ , Jemma thought. She opened the door.

 

“Using your hands to knock this time? I’m impressed.”

 

“Thanks? My phone is dead, and I wouldn’t suppose I could borrow yours?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Jemma unlocked her phone and handed it to him. He pulled up the dial screen. “I’m Jemma, by the way.”

 

“Jemma,” he confirmed, still staring blankly at the dial screen. She liked how her name suited his accent.

 

“Because, you told me yours before. Only seems fair,” she realised his thumb still hovered over the keypad. “Fitz… Have you forgotten the number?”

 

“No no no, I think I’ve got it,” he quickly typed in a number and held the phone to his ear. Within seconds someone had picked up, Fitz instantly recoiled, cringing and holding the phone arms length away. Jemma could hear indistinguishable screeching through the speakers. She reached out and hung it up for him.

 

“I-I don’t think that was the right number,” Fitz said.

 

“I’d hope not.”

 

Fitz handed the phone back and returned his hands to his hips. Jemma’s cat slunk out of her apartment again and started purring at his feet. She didn’t know Fitz at all, but what she did know was that Carter was an excellent judge of character. And Fitz seemed to be completely enamoured by the cat too, rubbing his ears absently. Suddenly she had an idea, but she couldn’t decided if it was genius or idiotic. All she knew was that she wanted to see more of him, but couldn’t understand why.

 

“Do you want to come in and borrow my charger for a couple of minutes?” she said.

 

“Only if I’m not making any more trouble, that would be brilliant” he replied.

 

“No, not at all,” Jemma smiled and held the door open.

 

Fitz walked in cautiously as she to her desk to retrieve the charger. Carter followed and lied down at the foot of her bed.

 

“Here. Take a seat on the couch too. Do you want, um, a glass of water for-“ Jemma gestured to his head.

 

“Thanks,” Fitz nodded and took a seat, humming and closing his eyes in content as he was swallowed by the couch cushions. “Your couch is amazing,” he said, sighing. 

 

Jemma came back with two glasses of water. Both for him. Fitz sat up but stopped short when he glimpsed the papers, notebooks and books littering her coffee table.

 

“Biochem-“, Fitz’s eyes immediately glazed over as he took in the notes and started rambling, “wow, is that a dispensible propagating- oh, and that crystal structure design will mimic the cellular properties-“

 

“-of biological camouflage. I’m supposed to be designing lightweight concealment. ” Jemma finished, she looked at him curiously. “Are you a biochemist also?”

 

“Absolutely not, I’m engineering, haven’t the stomach for bio-anything,” he replied, “but I’d love to see more of-“ he gestured at her table, “-all of this. Maybe when I can think clearly about it.”

 

Jemma handed him his water and set the extra down. “I’d like that,” she replied. Fitz smiled, and she found herself smiling back, feeling her simple promise glow inside of her. “Has your phone started up yet? Oh-“

 

She held his phone, the charger dangling uselessly from it. Fitz rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

 

“Erm, sorry, I got distracted,” he said.

 

“Nevermind, I’ll just,” she said, getting up and plugging it into the wall.

 

“Jemma,” Fitz said slowly, sinking into her couch again, “you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met whilst drunk, and you weren’t even at the bar!” She laughed quietly.

 

“So I should be expecting more of this then?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Stay the night,” she said quickly. His eyes widened. “Not like that,” she rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to walk all the way to your apartment and you can sleep on my, frankly brilliant, couch.”

 

“And then I’m looking at your chemistry in the morning.”

 

Fitz immediately kicked off his shoes and settled into the couch. Jemma brought her extra blanket over to him as she switched off the lights. They plunged into darkness and Jemma fumbled around taking her robe off and getting under her sheets. She could hear Fitz turning as he tried to get comfortable. Then there was silence for a moment before Fitz murmured.

 

“Jemma, I can’t stop thinking about that design with the, what was it, the ice-“

 

“The spontaneous ice crystallisation,” she supplied lazily, starting to drift off.

 

“Yeah that. Does the change in pressure and atmospheric water ensure that it begins following

detonation?”

 

“I hadn’t considered it useful outside of a lab yet, Fitz.”

 

“But what if… I’ve got this great mechanical system in… and ensuring the pressure change… but maybe it would need a catalyst…nah it should be okay…” Fitz continued muttering to himself. In the dark Jemma could see his hands gesturing above him.

 

“Fitz?” He stopped mid-thought.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If you don’t stop nattering on and sleep, I’ll actually wack you with the baseball bat.”

 

“But the cellular camouflage! Just imagine all the ways-“ and then he was off again. Jemma groaned. She’d love to talk about his work and contribute to whatever ideas were bouncing around his brain; but for one, he was drunk, and for two, he wasn’t even forming full sentences.

 

It was time to fight fire with fire.

 

“I put the cat liver in the fridge!”

 

“WHAT!?”

**Author's Note:**

> Aww I could write about first meetings all day long. Fitz definitely took her out for breakfast pancakes the next morning to make it up to her. Thanks for reading, nerds <3


End file.
